


The Food Grimoire

by IceNChrome



Series: Everyday Magic [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Mother Issues, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12624999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceNChrome/pseuds/IceNChrome
Summary: Sometimes inspirations strike at the oddest times. Or perhaps when it’s absolutely the best time, even though it certainly doesn’t seem like it. Sometimes it leads to personal healing, even though you get dragged in kicking and screaming and it all appears to be a huge pain the ass. Also, magical friends can be really creepy sometimes.





	1. The Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost. I wrote it back in 2013, then took it down because it didn't seem like anyone liked it. It doesn't contain sex or romance, just...an odd living arrangement and a very strange friendship. Loki lives with a Midgardian woman that tends to understand him and enjoy the unique challenges that dealing with him brings up. She adores him, but while I can't say it's unrequited, he doesn't feel exactly the same way. Lyn (the OC) gets to be a bit of my mouthpiece, I let her borrow my memories. I've decided to put it back up because a friend of mine actually did like it and mentioned I should give it another try. I need some magic in my life because it's been mostly gone for a few years now. Here's to ya.

"Hey. Quit getting all pissed off at the coffee pot and look at this."

Loki had tried to make coffee. The coffee maker was a shitty one, and sometimes it wouldn't drip into the pot but build up in the filter basket and either overflow on the counter, or eventually drip into the pot along with almost all the grounds. Then, we'd get grounds in our coffee, and we'd be unhappy fuckers. Like now.

"Why can we not get a French Press? I tire of this...cheap contraption...." Loki grumbled as he tried to get the overflowed filter out and not make a mess everywhere. Then he looked up. "What IS it?" He said attempting (poorly) to sound less annoyed. He tried sometimes, the sweet little bastard.

"I found my mom's recipe box." I pulled an innocuous red plastic box out of the cabinet and set it on the counter. I knew I still had it. I’d taken it with me on every move ever since my parents died and their estate was auctioned. I just forget about it sometimes, or maybe file it away in the back of my mind until such time as it's needed. Like now maybe.

“Your...what?” He stepped up next to me, the errant coffee pot temporarily forgotten.

“Recipe box. Instructions to make all the different dishes mom used to serve us back in the day. It’s like...my childhood in here.” As I spoke, his finger ran curiously across the top of the cards in it. The damn thing was stuffed to the gills with cards.

“Food spells? In a box? On small scraps of paper that may be lost at any time?” He said in his most grating ‘this is dumb mortal shit’ tone, and picked out one. “Heavenly Hash.” He intoned, then looked at me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t be an asshole! This is an important part of my personal history here!” Did I laugh at all his weird rituals? No!

He was reading the card by this time, and his brow furrowed. He turned it over, ran a finger over it and turned it back to the front again. He put that one down and much more carefully dug out another one and repeated the same process. Then went back for a third.

“What? Are you finding some good recipes in there? You were bitching about eating ‘boxed food’ out of the microwave and wanted to try something better. THEN you were bitching at me that all that shit isn’t healthy and how I should eat better…” he was totally ignoring me, engrossed in the ‘Christmas Coconut Peanut Butter Balls’ card. I decided to go for a little piss-off factor. “You know, you bitch A LOT. You’re a real Harpy sometimes…” Still nothing. He was now on to ‘Rhubarb Pudding’, and handling these cards like they were the Holy Documents of All Mankind. This was getting weird. “Loki?” I touched his arm and his attention snapped over to me.

“No wonder these are becoming so worn, getting them in and out of this overcrowded box almost destroys them! Can you not find a better way to store them? Do you not realize what they are?” He sounded positively scandalized, like I was doing something terrible and sacrilegious by keeping my mother’s recipe cards in a recipe card box. Oh NOES!

“I guess I could get a bigger box?” I shrugged and noticed his pissy, disappointed expression. “What, Loki? I haven’t cooked in years! I’ve been by myself until you barged in here.”

He waved all this off and hissed, “These are _potent_ spells! How did you not know this?”

His reaction left me a little dazed. “They’re RECIPES. As in ‘Mom threw stuff in a pot and wrote it all down because it tasted good.’ Some of them are probably copied out of a magazine, and I bet some she never even tried…” he was becoming rather agitated as I spoke and interrupted me.

“THIS one was written when your mother was 35.” He held up the ‘Rhubarb Pudding’ card he had been fondling and practically shoved it in my face. “It was a fine summer and the Rhubarb crop was overabundant. I see beautiful sunlight and feel the warm temperature of the air that she loved, as it was mostly cold in the land where you were raised.”

I stood there with my mouth slightly open and had nothing to say. The atmosphere in the room was becoming a little heavy. I wanted to break the tension with one of my normal goofy comments, but he wasn’t finished yet.

“And this one…” he picked the ‘Christmas Coconut Peanut Butter Balls’ card up and shoved it at me “...was written when you were ten years old. It was a harsh winter, and a blizzard came during the time of Yule. All of you were housebound and unable to leave to gather the food needed for your yearly feast. Your mother made these with what she had on hand because she could not make the treats you were accustomed to.” He glanced at the front again. “She also did not have ‘crunchy’ as this is calling for and used ‘smooth’. However she believed the taste of either to be satisfactory, though would have preferred ‘crunchy’, and wrote it thus.”

“How the hell do you know this?” Now that he was talking about it, I remembered that. I also remembered we’d found more strange things in an old magazine and we tried making…

“I believe this spell also went with these…” his long, delicate fingers picked two other cards out of the box. ‘Snow Ice Cream’ and ‘Beer Bread’. “You helped make this bread. You also used rather aged ale from the ah...’back porch fridge’.”

I stood there staring at him. I was used to strange things when he came along for me, but this was past the point. He was now looking into some odd doorway straight into my childhood. Into the past I often didn’t even think about anymore.

His voice became low and soft, and his eyes half-closed. He smiled as he said, “Your mother had hair the color of salt and pepper ever since you could remember.” He now seemed to be utterly absorbed into the things these cards were telling him. Seeing things that so far only lived in my own memory.

“OK, stop.” I choked, almost in tears. “Not trying to be ugly, honey, but this is a little much for me.” I stepped away from him and over to the coffee pot and set to remaking the pot he started. “I need some coffee.”

“This was your MOTHER.” He said, gravely. “Her magic is in this box, and has been ever since she wove these spells!”

“They’re just recipes, Loki. Almost everyone has a box full of Mom’s Recipes stashed away somewhere. This ain’t a thing. My mom didn’t know magic, she was just a housewife and kept the books for my dad’s TV repair business.” I didn’t like thinking about my mom. I really didn’t. There was a lot of conflicting feelings there. In my current household, talking about family-past had been a taboo subject that we avoided like the plague. All of a sudden, the other half of the household was violating the boundary.

“You speak of both these spells and your mother as if they were mundane objects.” I looked up at him with a warning in my eyes. He kept right on a-going like a freight train. “ ‘JUST recipes. JUST a housekeeper’. These spells offered you both comfort and sustenance. The woman that created and wove them felt the deepest of affection for you.”

Now I set the coffee pot down very hard. “Are we really going here? Really? It’s cool to dig at me about the past, but I recall having my head bitten off when we talked about your family.”

Usually, Loki is ready to fuss at me when I tell him to back off, but this time he wasn’t changing his track at all. He was going at this full-throttle, off the rails.

“I am not ‘digging’ at you. I am simply making you aware of something you do not seem to understand.” He put the card he was holding down on the counter and moved to me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Do you miss her?”

I wasn’t quite ready to play this with him, HE certainly wouldn’t have appreciated me poking at this with him. “Do you miss your mom?” I ventured, bracing myself for a flurry of anger, and perhaps a change of subject, even if it would end up in a bit of an argument. But, of course, he proved me wrong there too.

“Yes.” He said solemnly, staring directly into my eyes.

He doubled and trebled in my vision as the tears began to fall. I didn’t want to stand here like a little bitch and cry but shit! He knew how to hit all the right buttons sometimes, damn him anyway! Why did I keep him around?

I leaned forward and hugged on to him in spite of myself. “You suck.” I said, wiping my eyes on the shoulder of his stylish boho shirt. Weak revenge, but revenge all the same.

“You suck as well.” He said, and that made me laugh.

I gave his lean frame a firm squeeze and sighed, “All right. So. What is the proper way to deal with all these food spells of old?”

“They need to be transcribed into a proper Grimoire. Did you not tell me this was an important part of your personal history?”

I shakily went back to finishing up the coffee, wiping my eyes, “Yeah, but wouldn’t that like...fuck up all the magic mom put into them when she wrote them?” Like I knew anything about magic. He was definitely the expert there.

“On the contrary, dear.” He said, reaching for our two favorite coffee cups from the rack under the cupboard. “It would strengthen them, as it adds your own magic to it.”

“I don’t have magic!” I exclaimed.

He gave one of his long-suffering martyr sighs and told me, “You have no idea. You need so much guidance. What would you do without me?”

“Probably spend less on groceries...and laundry detergent. I’d also have more space on the bathroom vanity…”

It was decided, as we sat out on the patio enjoying our coffee, that I was going to transcribe all of my mother’s recipes into a ‘Grimoire’ and Loki was going to supervise this undertaking to make sure it was done right. Gods help me.

“So, I get one of those blank journal things and write all of it in there…” I began, thinking ‘Yeah, this’ll be OK...’ and Loki promptly burst my bubble.

“It has to be a special book, not just any blank pages stuck together, and also, it must be written properly. Pen and ink.” He took a sip of his coffee, thoughtfully. “You have nothing here that would suffice. We must find something hand-made.”

“Yeah, I got pens, and they have ink in them.” I nodded at him and lit a smoke. Being facetious was one my favorite pastimes.

Loki frowned at me, and I knew this was going to turn into _A Thing_. “No. A quill and ink. That is the most personal method of magical inscription.”

“Come on, man. I have no idea how to use that stuff. I got those fountain pens you wanted, isn’t that good enough?” The ‘fountain pens’ I got were the disposable kind. They had nibs like real fountain pens, but other than that they might as well just be a good old Bic stick-pen.

Loki was vigorously shaking his head already. “That will not do. Quill and ink. Leather bound parchment. Hand made.”

I pouted over this. He wasn’t going to let me get away with cheaping-up on this little home-project. “You’re really serious.” I stated, hoping he’d let me off the hook.

“That I am. I understand Midgard does not have the interest in such things as it did at one time, but there certainly must be some way to get what we need.”

We sat there in silence for a couple minutes, him sipping, me smoking. He seemed to be absolutely certain I’d figure something out. Where the hell would we find stuff like that...the internet? Well, sure. But remembering how he’d reacted to things like that in the past, he’d want to touch whatever it was we were buying, and get a feel for it so the absolute most perfect item would be selected, because things were a drama like that with Loki. Drama, drama, drama...and then something struck me.

“I think we’re in luck. I think I know where we could look at and pick up the stuff we needed to do this.”

His eyebrows raised, and he said, “Where?”

“The Renaissance Fest. You remember going there? You said you liked the way it felt, even though the food was nothing like it should be.” I had taken him to the Renfest last year and he loved it. He told me at the time I ran through it too fast though. Which was probably true. When I go there it’s such an overwhelming amount of input I don’t know what to do first and end up wandering all over the place never really getting to look at anything in depth.

He nodded slowly, “There was much magic about the place. However everyone was in such a hurry.” He gave me a pointed glance. “They sell these types of things there?”

“They sell everything there.” I said, lightly adding, “Or we could always just pick something out online…”

“Sight unseen? Out of the question.” Just like I thought.

“Alright then! The Renfest it is! This weekend, you and me, hunting down quill pens and ink and a big ‘ole book. I’ll feel just like Indiana Jones.” I remarked dryly, envisioning sore feet and crabby attitude.

“What is Indiana Jones?” He asked.

Our movie on the laptop that night was Raiders of the Lost Ark. Loki very much enjoyed Indiana Jones.


	2. The Renfest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A field trip to the local Renfest where all manner of magical things are kept. Is Loki really trying to help, or is he just manipulating the situation to suit his own needs? That's always the question with Loki. It depends on what you really want to believe.

Renfest Shopping Day dawned rainy and cool. In fact, the night before it had stormed at one point. It woke me up, however, oddly enough, Loki continued to snore away or what passes for snoring with him. Sometimes it actually sounds like he purrs when he sleeps, like a big ‘ole cat. That is a very peaceful sound that lulls me into a relaxed sleep myself. Usually that’s when he’ll roll over and kick the crap out of my shin. With Loki you have to expect it when you least expect it. But, I digress. Shopping Morning…

I shuffled around trying to make sure I remembered everything, thinking about putting on some coffee, but no. I knew we’d grab some at the festival so, why sit here wasting daylight? I was already dressed in my Renfest finery. A white shirt with big poofy sleeves and a gold colored embroidered vest and...jeans. I guess half-ass will have to do. I attempted to put on what I thought of as my ‘pirate belt’ with all the straps and dangling hooks. I could have used a hand getting the damn thing right. It was a bit of a contraption. How did people wear stuff like this on a regular basis? “What are you doing up there? Come on, Loki! I need your help!”

I heard footsteps upstairs, but he didn’t answer. Just as I thought he was probably practicing some weird ritual in the bathroom, I heard him coming down the stairs. He swept off into the kitchen before I could even see him. I secretly hoped he’d wear some of that armor I’d seen in a box in the closet. He looked very sexy in leather. Yes he did…

Wandering into the kitchen, I hoped to catch a glimpse of Loki looking like a vision of Asgardian loveliness but what met my eyes certainly woke me up the rest of the way.

“Oh now what the hell? You look like a Hipster!” His Majesty was wearing a sage green, vintage tunic-like shirt and, a pair of black skinny jeans. He had done absolutely nothing to his hair. It was fluffing out every which way.

He reached into the fridge and pulled out an apple, then looked me up and down. “And YOU look as if you cannot decide what century you presently reside in.” With that, Mr. Hipster flounced on past me and cozied up cross-legged on the couch. The first time we went to the Renaissance festival last year I hadn’t bothered with dressing up. At that time, he had recently…arrived, and we were still trying to get comfortable with each other.

“Loki, aren’t you going to at least attempt at a costume? You’ve got that cool green and black outfit in a box in the closet and…”

“That is not a costume. That is a set of functional garments.” He poked the ‘on’ button of my laptop and crunched his apple as it fired up, dismissing that topic of discussion. Well excuse ME!

“OK...before you start reading all my emails the way you do…” his sly smirk wasn’t lost on me, “...could you help me get this belt on? These sleeves are in the way.”

He looked up and gave me a pained expression. “I was merely about to check the weather and...what is that for?” He asked, pointed at my belt. “Expecting battle to break out at the festival?”

“No, smartass. I can hang a small bag or two on this belt, therefore I don’t have as much to carry or worry about losing. It’s not easy to get on though.” I kept struggling and he finally condescended to come help.

“And I suppose it ‘looks cool’ too, correct?” He said, rhetorically as he swatted my hands away and started fastening my belt for me. The damn thing was actually two belts, joined at an O-ring and I had crossed the top and bottom belt up if his annoyed sigh was any indication. It also gave an excuse to get nice and close to him, which was never a problem in my book. He always smelled so good. Him and all his lotions and soaps and hair stuff...

“Why didn’t you slick your hair down?” It was unusual for him not to tame his long, black locks back. He always claimed he didn’t like it to fly in his face.

He simply gestured to the window and the rain outside. “I did not see the point. I guess you could say this is my ‘costume’.” He patted me gently on the stomach. “There. I believe you’re all strapped in now. Ready for anything, no?”

“Lemme grab my bag, I guess I should take something waterproof. Not sure how long the rain is going to keep up for. I sure hope we find the book and a pen today. If not, I don’t know where we’d get it.”

He was already back on the laptop. “Someone on your Facebook says the weather should clear by nine.” I heard more mouse-clicking. What the hell is he into now? I really need to remember to log out of all my stuff. Pesty creature!

“Get the hell out of my messages, Nosy! Let’s go!”

He followed behind me smiling in his sly, annoying way while still nibbling at his apple.

  
*

The rain persisted all the way out to the festival. This darkened my mood a bit. I wasn’t looking forward to wet feet and listening to Loki bitch all day long, which is exactly what he’d do if he had to hang out in the rain. At least he didn’t insist on driving. He drove too damn slow! Honestly, he was being quite docile this morning. Was this a good mood? He sat quietly engrossed in his Kindle, all wadded up in the passenger seat in his favorite position. He’d recline back all the way and put his heels up on the edge of the seat so his scrawny knees stuck up in the air. He didn’t want the seat belt bothering him, he didn’t like wearing one, but I insisted. At least it would save us a fine if we ever got pulled over. Life with this one was a constant struggle sometimes.

“What are you reading, honey?” I fully expected to get a bizarre title that either had to do with science or magic or some other obscure thing, but it was neither.

“The author you shared with me. Lovecraft.”

Had to raise my eyebrows at that one. Loki wasn’t much of a fiction reader, he preferred reading to learn something new. He was probably storing knowledge the way some countries hoarded up on nuclear weapons. Maybe he was going to conjure Cthulhu in the bathroom one day. The thought of that made me laugh, even though it probably shouldn’t have.

“This is amusing?” He asked lightly, glancing over at me.

“Nah. I’m just happy you decided to give it a try. Read on, sweetheart.”

And he proceeded to do that in silence until we finally pulled into the festival and the rutted parking lot jostled him around too much to read.

The rain had stopped about a mile or so before we got to the festival, but the sky remained ironclad. It was still cool, and I wished I’d brought a light jacket. Loki was unphased and stood next to the car waiting for me to get all my bags and other junk situated and switched around. Why couldn’t I be more like him and just walk out the door? Maybe because I was the Keeper of the Sacred Money Card that allowed His Grace to merely point and receive it’s endless bounty. Lucky me.

First things first after getting into the Renfest and fending off all those people that want to take your picture and sell it back to you later: COFFEE. We didn’t want the entire festival subjected to the two of us without caffeine. That would end ugly for everyone.

“I smell espresso.” Loki remarked, and began walking in the direction of that wonderful smell. I followed him like a cop after a trusty bloodhound. Soon we were sitting on a pretty patio with purple umbrellas, sipping our coffee and nibbling on gingerbread. A trio of musicians played nearby, singing songs about life and love and hangovers from too much booze the night before.

“I think I know where to get this book we’re looking for.” I swirled my coffee around, and decided it was time to light up a smoke.

“Really? Do tell.”

“A couple years back, I came out here with a friend of mine and she bought a journal from a shop. The year after that, I bought this bag from the same shop. I remember they’ve got leather-bound blank books with hand-made paper…” I made sure to emphasis that for him, because he’d specifically mentioned that, “...but I don’t think they sell feather-pens there.”

“Well, maybe they know of a shop that does.” Loki said as he downed the last bit of his coffee. “There must be one that sells writing instruments in a place such as this.”

“Yeah. This place is like the mall, but for creepy people. Like us.” I said solemnly, nodding at him.

“We are creepy?” He asked, as if that couldn’t possibly be true.

“The creepiest, hon. Are you ready?”

With that, we waded out into the sea of other creepy people, totally content in our creepiness. I did have some idea where we were headed in general. We came to the end of a lane and apparently my memory was slightly off. Our destination was over one more lane.

Loki was a real rock for a change. He wasn’t swayed from our current course or diverted by shiny, dangly baubles. Usually he was as terrible in a shopping situation as I was. We loved shopping. LOVED it. We’d wander around through almost any store for hours on end, and usually drop too much money. Except Wal-Mart. According to Loki, Wal-Mart was a ‘vile and hideous den of rampant idiocy’, which was the cool Loki-way of saying ‘This sucks ass.’

Before we knew it, we were crammed into the small store inspecting blank-paged journals and scrolls like...well...creepy people. Loki was doing most of the inspecting. He’d handle some books, be completely unimpressed with one and then act like another, similar book had something Awesome about to jump out of it at us. I couldn’t see any difference between any of them, then again, what did I know?

“What size should we get?” I asked, thinking the big ones were probably a hell of a lot more expensive than the smaller variety.

“You will be inscribing the entire contents of that box onto it’s pages.” He let that sink in for a moment. “I believe that calls for something with a bit of...heft.” He could sense me trying to cheap-up. Good ‘ole Loki. Finally, he picked up a really thick 8x10 book. He didn’t even let me ask the clerk how much it was, but went right for the kill himself.

“Well, those normally run $125 but today, I’ll sell it to you for $90, m’Lord.” I know he loved that Renfest-talk too. I think he probably missed people calling him ‘My Lord’ or ‘My Liege’ or what-the-fuck-ever back where he came from. I call him ‘asshole’ half the time.

“A deal, my dear.” He said, and the clerk about tripped over herself to get it rung up for him. He had such a WAY with some people. He gave me a superior, snotty look as if to say, ‘See what hanging out with me can get you?’

“Since you’re schmoozing like a total pimp in here, why not ask her if she knows where we can get the feather pen thingies?” I murmured to him.

“Feather. Pen. Thingies.” He mumbled distastefully. He then turned to the clerk and asked, “Where might we find quills for writing?”

She looked at him a second, as if not expecting such a question, but finally answered, “I did hear tell of a new shop over in Polonia, by the Wedding Chapel.”

“Thank you, dear lady.” He said, smoothly. I rolled my eyes at him, and handed over ‘Lady Visa’.

“All right, Coolio. Since I’m sure you have no idea where ‘Polonia’ is around here, just follow me.”

Off we were to find feather pen THINGIES, goddammit.

It took quite awhile to locate this booth. It was actually a tent instead of a store front. On the way I picked up more accessories to hang off my belt, because you just never know. We drank lemonade and shared a chocolate ice cream cone. I listened to at least ten minutes of bitching about how those two things should never be put together again. I was very happy to finally run into this store. I adore Loki, but sometimes he can go ON.

“Quills, books and oddities…” Loki said, stopping. “Haven’t we been this way once already?”

“I dunno, honey. I think we were up a little further.” My feet were starting to complain at all the walking, and I felt like it was getting time we gave up and got out.

Upon walking up the ramp of the tent-covered platform, the first thing we saw was a glass case full of quills. The feathers were all different colors. There were even ones with peacock feathers. I was glad to have His Expert Self along, because there’s no way I’d know what was what amongst the feathery thingies.

Loki walked up one side of the case, and then down the other, hands behind his back as if surveying diamonds and pearls. The clerk from this store just watched what we were doing, then mentioned, “Those are all hand made and one-of-a-kind. The nibs are actually from the 1800’s, so they’re true vintage.”

“Excellent.” Loki mused. “I would like the green one with the black accents.” He said, pointing to a bright green-feathered pen. Of course! Green was his signature color. Who was this for anyway, me or him?

Apparently his ESP was working because he turned to me and said, “If that would be to your liking, Dear.”

“Whatever you say...M’lord.” I don’t think he cared much for my tone, because I got a bit of bitch-face in return.

He also picked out some simple black india ink and a matching green ink well. The clerk boxed everything up and once again, I magically produced the Lady Visa.

“If you need anything further, we have a store front just south of here. After the Festival season, we’ll be open year ‘round!” Loki’s eyes lit up a bit at that. He’d been eyeing some scrolls and something called ‘Poison Pen Letter Ink’. It was probably the ‘poison’ part that gave him such a Happy. Ah, my most dearest Loki. Next I knew, there’d probably be weird spells written all over everything in the house.

The box didn’t exactly fit in my bag with the huge book in there already. It stuck part of the way out. My bag was full now and getting pretty heavy and unwieldy. “Hey, hon. Do you think you can drag this bag for awhile? This thing is breaking my neck.”

He laughed, like the bitch he is, and told me, “But this is the part that builds character! You, toiling under the spoils of your grand search. So much more the glory for bringing it home at the expense of your own neck!”

“You’re just being a lazy fucker.”

“Ah, not I! I am here to assist you in your quest to inscribe the most powerful Grimoire in all of Midgard! Your words wound me.” He dramatically placed a hand on his heart and smirked. Sometimes this shit was cute. Sometimes, like now, not so cute.

“OK, Mr. Wizard. Let’s head up to the front, grab some lunch and then head out. The spoils of my grand search are kicking my ass.”

He assented, and we made our way to the front of the festival. Not a short walk by any means, the place was huge. We ended up grabbing some Shepherd’s Pie, and as we were finishing, Loki suddenly exclaims. “Oh! It seems I have forgotten something important!”

“What’s that, honey?” I said lightly, really enjoying my lunch, even though I was informed it ‘probably came from a tin’ beforehand. Meaning out of a can.

“This Grimoire must be anointed with oil.”

I stopped eating and just looked up at him.

“A very...special oil.” He gave me wide, innocent eyes and folded his hands primly on the table in front of him.

“Really.” I said slowly. I had the idea he was going to want to…

“From the little round shop.”

That meant the place that sold all the custom-blended oil that was all the way the fuck on the OTHER side of the festival from us.

“Loki, I’m going to stab you with this goddamn plastic fork.”

“It is essential!” He hissed.

“It’s way over on the other side! I have some oil at home, won’t that work?”

“It will NOT. It must be from there.” He sniffed, and then looked down his nose at me.

“Aw man. OK, OK.” I groused. I ended up following him, slowly, all the way back through the festival to the ‘little round shop’. This shop reminded me of a wishing-well, the odd, round way it was shaped with all the bottles of oil arranged on the outside. Once we finally got there, Loki wandered all around the outside of it, pulling the stoppers on several vials and smelling the contents. Finally, he picked one out that he deemed ‘Perfection’. It just so happened to be the exact same oil we’d bought last year and he’d used up within three months because he liked the way it smelled. I felt like I’d definitely been had.

“Loki, if you wanted more of this oil, you could have just said so. You didn’t have to trick me into it.”

He turned around and gave me his best scandalized expression. “This just so happens to be the perfect mix of essences we need!” He leaned in close to me as the clerk poured some out into a smaller vial for him. “Besides…” he whispered, “...do you not love the way it smells when I wear it?” He practically purred and then rubbed the tip of his nose against my cheek.

Yes, Dear. Out comes Lady Visa in double-time.

While we were in the area, we nabbed another lemonade to share, and eventually made our way back up to the front of the festival to head home. By this time, I thought my shoulder was probably going to fall off. To inspire me, Loki put a little of that damn sexy-smelling oil on, and I was ready to follow him to hell and back. As usual, he knew exactly how to keep me motivated.

Now, I guess I was really going to have to learn how to write with one of those feather-thingies, which meant Loki was going to have to show me how. If he really knew how...and as stupid as I felt when this finally occurred to me, if any of this was really necessary. He could have just wanted to go to the Renfest to pick up more of this oil he liked and pulled this elaborate bullshit scheme instead of simply telling me he wanted to go. I got the idea he didn’t like asking for anything, he wanted to be ‘The One’ that was needed and who had all the answers. He definitely like to manipulate.

Or, maybe I was being a big asshole and he wanted me to learn something new and remember my mom in the process, maybe make some peace with her memory.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, in a mischievous tone, leaning in too close so I could get a whiff of his lovely-smelling self. He was a tease too.

“I was thinking that you have a nice ass.” I made a grab for it, but he moved away too fast.

As I listened to a short, insincere lecture about how crass my behavior was, I thought that maybe he wanted to make some peace with his mom too. That’s OK. I was happy to share the peace-making.


	3. The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyn pulls a little of her own mischief. She's learning from the BEST after all!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written around the time of The Dark World, and Thor and Jane were still a thing. This story takes place around that time, which is why she's brought up. I had started writing about their Thanksgiving dinner, but took that one down as I felt it wasn't doing well. Unless there's a demand for any more about Loki and his friend Lyn, this will stand as the end of the story.

A week had passed since our little trip to the Renfest. It was hard to get anything going during the week for me. I’d come from work and be ready to collapse for the most part. Sometimes, Loki would want to drag me out and around town. He liked going over by the concert hall or the big fountain and watching all the people go by. He also liked going to Market Street and browsing around in all the expensive stores. The first time I ever set foot in a Tiffany’s was with him. He of course bounced in there like he owned the place. We both coveted everything we saw. Unfortunately, I couldn’t buy him everything he wanted there, or anything there for that matter.

On Saturday morning, Loki decided today would be the day I started my ‘Food Grimoire’. He fussed over clearing off the table, which he had pretty much appropriated as his desk, and he would now be so gracious as to allow me to use. Out of all the recipes, we decided that the ones I would copy were the ones that were handwritten or typed. My mother had actually bothered to TYPE some of them out, which was amazing to me. Loki said those contained the most magic.

We brewed up some of our special snooty coffee, set out everything and I proceeded to learn how to scratch words on paper with a quill pen. Much to my surprise, Loki actually DID know what he was doing, even though I had convinced myself more and more over the course of the week that he’d just been pretending to know all this to make me go out to the Renfest. I didn’t tell him that, because it would have pissed him off. I was learning about the care and feeding of a Diva.

“You make too much of it. This is simple.” He said, dipping the little dropper into the bottle of ink and dribbling it into the inkwell. It had the consistency of water. I thought it would be thicker.

“If it was so simple, then there’d be no ballpoints.” I groused.

He gave me a sour look, “You spend too much time typing. Writing is becoming a lost art among you mortals.”

“Yeah, like you’re not busy posting statuses on my Facebook whenever you feel like it. You need your OWN Facebook profile by the way. We can just make up a name for you. Then you can go on about the weather all you want.” I was rambling, actually. A little nervous about trying this New Thing out, afraid I’d somehow screw it up.

As if reading my mind, Loki said, “Do not worry about a blot of ink here and there.” He finished filling up the inkwell and put the cork back on the ink bottle. “It adds character to the page.” He smiled, and he looked so very charming when he smiled. Sometimes.

“OK. How does this thing work?” I picked up the feathered thing and pressed my finger against the nib on the end. “Damn. That’s kinda sharp!”

“Of course.” He said with measured patience.

“Hey...we got ink and something sharp. Can I tattoo you with this?” I made poking motions at him.

Loki rolled his eyes and gave a pained sigh, “No, you may not.”

“Come on! How about ‘DIVA’ right across your forehead!”

“Cease stalling.” He tapped the page in front of me. “Just dip the sharp part of the feather thingy in the little ink thingy and apply it to the page. Lightly. Do not try to stab it to death. No tattooing.”

“Bitch.” I muttered, but did as he said. I was amazed that I didn’t make a mess with the first stroke, it went on nice and smooth and actually felt rather nice to write with, even better than the fountain pens I had. In fact, it put down ink more evenly than those.

I wrote several lines of the first recipe and remarked, “I don’t have all that great of handwriting. This doesn’t look all cool and gothy.”

“I doesn’t have to.” He said, rising from his chair and going into the kitchen. “You continue until all the ink in that well is gone. I’ll be outside in the courtyard.”

That meant he’d be fretting over all the plants he insisted we put out there, and plucking weeds out from between the stones with a vengeance. He was really, really weird about stuff like that. I knew he was a fussbudget, but those weeds offended Loki more than dustbunnies under the end tables, and that was BAD.

While he went outside to Obsess, I stayed and scribbled. For awhile, I felt like I was in school, which may or may not have led to a short fantasy about doing something naughty with my teacher, Mr. Loki. Like he’d ever allow that.

So. Recipes.

That inkwell lasted quite awhile, but writing all that stuff out was oddly relaxing. Some of the recipes were stuck in small plastic sleeves, and sometimes there was more than one in a sleeve. There were also several variations on a dish, like regular ‘ole beef stew. In writing them down, I could actually remember times when we’d had that dish for dinner. I could envision us sitting at the table in our crap-yellow 70’s-style kitchen with the weird red-orange globe light over it. I remembered how the kitchen would smell especially good when mom made chili or beef stew on a wintery night. Everything was so simple and wonderful back then.

I remember cutting up potatoes to help mom and then washing dishes with her after dinner, feeling like less of a fuck-up than usual. I earned a Brownie badge for learning how to set a table, well, for the extremely short time I was a Brownie. I remembered how damn good those mysteriously almond-tasting Christmas cookie-press cookies tasted. I even could recall how dad would read the paper at the table after we got finished eating, and how things were very peaceful in the kitchen. Always.

There were birthdays with homemade cake and frosting, especially that one when my friend opened the fake-champagne bottle and the cork flew up and shattered the light fixture. For whatever reason, we all found that hilarious as hell. We never did replace that fixture. We had deep conversations over tomato soup and sandwiches, played tic tac toe with ketchup and mustard on hamburgers, cut up bread with scissors into precise cubes for Holiday turkey dressing, we laughed a lot and I always felt cozy and safe. Funny the shit you remember just sitting around thinking about...food.

I heard the door open and looked up to see Loki with dirt on his shirt.

“I would like to remove that shrub next to the garage. It is positively an eyesore.” He said as he scrubbed his hands at the sink.

“I won’t argue with you there, honey. Hey, I’m getting to the bottom of this inkwell! I’m almost all the way through the ‘B’s too. I bet I can make it into a ‘C’ or two before I run out.”

I felt his long, warm fingers on my shoulders, massaging them slightly. He normally wasn’t touchy-feely, so this was a bit out of character for him.

“What do you think of it thus far?”

“At first it was pesty running out of ink every few words, but once I got used to it, I didn’t even really notice having to do that anymore.”

“I believe the rhythm you develop helps your concentration. Or lulls you somehow, depending on what it is you are writing. It always made me feel...calm.”

I refrained from making a smartass comment about him actually being calm. Figured it would ruin the mood. Instead, I decided to ask about his writing since he’d brought it up and started this whole strange project in the first place.

“What kind of stuff did you write about? Stories? Curses? Poetry?”

He patted my shoulder and then went to rummaging through the refrigerator. “All of the above.”

Well, that was open-ended. With his undoubtedly unique life experiences I wondered what kind of stories would flow from his imagination. Or poetry. Poetry?

“Did you write love poems?”

“Oh please.” He murmured, engrossed in whatever might be in the vegetable crisper.

I went back to scribbling in my book. “M’kay. So you wrote hate poems.”

He chuckled lightly. “I wrote many different poems, however none of them could be considered especially loving. I think you would have to have some type of love directed your way in order to write about it.”

I sighed. Angst, angst, drama, drama. “Come on, honey. I know someone loved you. Your Momma loved you. Everybody’s Momma loved them.”

“Oh? Is that true?” He asked lightly, knowing damn well that was part of my problem. I should have kept my big mouth shut.

He sat down at the end of the table and nibbled on some grapes while giving me a smarmy grin. From the sound of things we were now starting to tread all the fuck over territory that was previously off limits. Magic my ass! He’d very sneakily got me to face shit in my past just by copying all these recipes in this damn book. I’d been sitting here thinking about all that old stuff the entire time. Instead of feeling upset about it though, I’d actually been thinking about things from a different perspective. More like the day-to-day workings of my childhood than all those shitty events that rear their ugly heads and divert your memories into an angry cesspool. Maybe there was some magic to it. This was the first time I’d thought about mom without feeling pissed-off and resentful or sorrowful and guilty in a long, long time.

“I hope you choke on one of those grapes.” I said pleasantly, not looking up at him.

“I see nary an inkblot. I am so very proud of you!”

“OK, it’s getting thick in here, Loki.”

He slouched back in the chair munching on grapes and watching me. He actually was quiet for awhile and then asked, “What are you learning from all your mother’s spells?”

I sighed and put my pen down, I was pretty much out of ink and needed to let my eyes have a rest anyway. “I’m learning that my mom had more recipes than she ever used. I also found the recipe for Pumpkin Pie misplaced in the B’s. I thought that was gone forever!”

“You shall have to make it sometime.” He was still grinning. He knew exactly how I was feeling, the little turd.

“Yeah, well, next month is Thanksgiving so I might actually bake one.”

“What? BAKE one? I thought Thanksgiving came out of a box!” He was being really, really facetious. He’d been here last year for Thanksgiving, but we weren’t as well acquainted with each other then. I told him Thanksgiving came out of a box and proceeded to make a Turkey and Stuffing ‘Homestyle Bake’ casserole. He proclaimed my grand Thanksgiving feast ‘horrid’. I eventually came clean and explained what Thanksgiving was like for most people. Now I’m sorry I did. He remembers everything you say, and mostly uses it as ammo to make you look stupid later. One of these days….

“Yes, BAKE one. I’m going to bake a pie. I’m also going to make a turkey...or, hey, what would you like? What did you used to eat at feasty-times up there in the clouds?”

He thought for a minute and said, “I recall roast boar.”

“OK. I can do a pork roast. Close enough?” He just raised his eyebrows. An idea started to form. A really, really bad one. “Damn, it’ll bring back so much to be able to make real food again, just like mom used to make.”

He was still over there looking smug and pissy, like he DID something amazing. Oh you little….

“Ya know, the only thing I’ll be lacking is family, since mine’s all dead. I guess you’re kinda like my family now, dear.” He didn’t respond to that. “And your family is my family.” I continued, ignoring the dark cloud that began passing over his face. “Hey! Let’s ask your brother over for Thanksgiving, since I...ya know...sat here confronting all the demons and hardships of my childhood, with your kind help, of course.”

Loki now resembled Grumpy Cat.

“How ‘bout it, Dear?”

“Absolutely NOT.” He spat.

“Why? You trying to say I can achieve something YOU can’t?”

He sat back suddenly, smiling. “You cannot speak to Thor. You do not have a way to.”

“No. I can’t…” I got up and started clearing off the table. “But I know who Jane Foster is.”

“You wouldn’t!” He seethed.

“You wouldn’t help me carry my crap for awhile at the Renfest, and you wouldn’t tell the truth about going back to the ‘little round shop’ either, speaking of things that we ‘wouldn’t’ do.” I snatched a grape from the bag in front of him as I walked past. “So put up or shut up, Homie. It’s just ONE fucking day. Not even that. Just a few hours. You said things were ‘on more even terms’, then fine. If I can do something uncomfy, then so can you.”

I cleaned up my pen and inkwell and everything to the tune of stony silence. Angry Diva is angry. I had the slightest fear maybe I’d gone too far with him. But...not any further than he’d gone really. HE needs to confront a thing or two. Wasn’t that why he ended up here? To somehow feel better? I thought that was the plan when he ended up on my doorstep. He needed some kind of...healing. I did too, really.

I can’t say I cared overmuch for his brother. I’d met Thor twice. The first time was...weird. I didn’t know much about Thor’s lady friend Jane, except for that he’d mentioned I should get in touch with her sometime, and that she’d make a very good friend to have. With Loki in the house, I thought that might be a little awkward, and honestly, anyone that doesn’t like Loki isn’t all the way cool to me. I might give him shit, but I cared deeply about him, and it was him I was looking out for, big, bad Kingly God that he claimed to be.

“Fine. I shall allow this.” He sat up straight and gave me an ugly look. “I can do this for one day.” AKA: ‘Challenge accepted, bitch!’

“OK, I’ll see if I can get in touch with Ms. Foster and we’ll take it from there.” I felt holes being bored into my back as I stood at the sink. I ignored it. “You won’t be sorry, hon. Really. That food is going to be so good….”

“IF we even get any.” He groused. “You have no idea how much Thor eats.”

“At least I’ll have a nice, oil-anointed fancy recipe book to pick lots from, right? You’re a really good sport, hon.” I went to kiss him on the head and he pulled away. I bet I spend a week on the couch for this one, but it’s going to be worth it!


End file.
